


What the fuck happened last night?

by Captainohmycaptain



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, But it is not written in the story, Drunk Sex, Fake AH Crew, Female Jack, M/M, Prompt Fic, Tattoos, its just mentioned, trans!Jack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6036742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captainohmycaptain/pseuds/Captainohmycaptain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Last night was supposed to be a one-night stand but we drunkenly got each other’s names tattooed on our asses, so it’s kinda hard to forget you.</p><p>I took this prompt, altered it a bit, and took off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is what the tattoo would look like: http://www.dafont.com/old-london.font?text=Jeremy+Dooley 
> 
> I altered the prompt slightly in that Ryan is the only one who got a tattoo. I will be writing more chapters, probably only two or three in all and I have an idea for a prequel for how they met.

The first thing Ryan registered was that his head felt like it was being split open by a hammer. The second thing was some awful repetitive banging sound. The third was that he wasn’t alone in his bed.

There were strong arms wrapped around his waist, hot breath on the back of his neck, and what felt suspiciously like an erection pressed up against his back. His first coherent thought was something along the lines of ‘ _What the fuck happened last night?’_ His second thought was that the thumping sound he could hear was someone knocking persistently on his door. He sat up slowly, a hand to his head to keep it from fucking falling off, and gently pushed the person’s arms away from him. The thumping had stopped, thank god, but he could hear Michael grumbling agitatedly outside and figured he’d be better off seeing what was up.

He slipped from his bed, wobbling slightly on his feet, not sure whether he was hungover or still drunk. Probably both. He was also naked and didn’t feel like dealing with Michael’s screaming, so he looked around his floor for anything to pull on, but he only found shirts. The knocking started up again just as Ryan was walking towards the door, scrubbing his hands violently over his face to try and clear some of the fogginess from his mind.

“Ryan, I swear to God, if you don’t open this door in the next second, I’ll kill you if you’re not dead already!” Michael’s voice was muffled by the door but his anger came through loud and clear. Ryan eased the door open, squinting into the brightness of the hallway, the curtains in his room having blocked out the morning Los Santos sun. He angled the door and his body so that his lower half was out of view. Michael took a startled step back before he started laughing loudly right in Ryan’s face. The older man nearly slammed the door shut, would have, if Michael hadn’t put his hand on the door to keep it half open.

“What do you want?” It took Ryan two tries to croak the words out and they just made Michael laugh harder. His head protested harshly, his stomach riling up in turn.

“Guess you had a good night off, buddy!” More laughter, “We thought you’d fucking died or something!” And Ryan was glad his friends had thought to be worried about him, but also…why?

“What do you mean you thought I was dead? I don’t even think I got in that late?” And Ryan didn’t, honestly. Now that Michael had jarred him fully awake, his memories of the previous night were starting to come together. He’d met up with Jeremy, who he’d met a week prior at the laundromat, for drinks at a fairly popular bar right in the heart of the city. It was his night off after a successful hit, one Geoff had desperately needed done, hence the break. They’d shared a few drinks, played a few rounds of pool even, and then… Shit, what had they done then? It all blurred together in Ryan’s head, their last round of drinks, their leaving the bar. Where had they gone after that? Ryan could only assume that they’d stumbled back here and, apparently, fallen into bed together.

“Well, with the way you were screaming last night, it was hard not to think you might’ve died.” Michael had a smug grin on his face, a raised eyebrow that Ryan kind of wanted to slap away. His face flushed red despite his annoyance and he hated Michael for a brief second as the younger started laughing obnoxiously loud again. “Hey, Geoff just told me to check on you, make sure you were okay.” And Michael was being semi-serious now, the smugness faded from his smile to something more genuine and Ryan was reminded of why he was friends with these assholes. He knew Geoff worried about them all, maybe Gavin in particular, but that could be expected. Geoff had told him to enjoy his night off, had given him a grin not unlike Michael’s now, one that was equal parts supportive and disappointed, mostly because he never really left the penthouse they all shared. Given that one of the very few times he had left, for something that wasn’t a job or a food run, he’d drunkenly awoken the entire crew with loud sex, he didn’t expect another night off any time soon.

“Thanks, Michael. Tell him I’m fine.” The other man nodded warmly and headed off, back towards the kitchen and living room, probably to spread word of his hangover. Ryan shook his head and turned back into his room, nudging the door shut behind him. He contemplated turning right back around and following Michael, though, when he lifted his eyes and met Jeremy’s. The other man was sat up in Ryan’s bed, the thin sheet settled low on his hips. He would’ve looked the picture of seduction if his eyes weren’t blown wide with confusion and shock. “So I take it you don’t know what happened last night, either?” Ryan tried to come off calm, aloof, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. He collapsed back into his bed as Jeremy groaned next to him, dropping his head into his hands with a shake.   
  
“Jesus.” A pause. “So, did we have sex?” Jeremy mumbled around his hands and Ryan couldn’t help but note a faint hopefulness in the smaller man’s voice.

“Yeah, if the way my ass feels right now is anything to go by.” Ryan sighed, burying his face into the pillow in his arms, glad at least that he hadn’t brought some complete stranger home. Jeremy was his friend, of sorts. They’d met a few weeks ago, they’d flirted, and they respected each other as people in similar fields of crime, though Jeremy was freelance and far less notorious than the Mad Mercenary. Jeremy chuckled weakly, his head still in his hands.

“I’m sorry. Oh my god.” Jeremy muttered, letting himself flop back onto the bed, jostling Ryan slightly. The older sighed again and leant up from his pillow, staring down at Jeremy, who honestly looked like he was upset.

“Jeremy, it’s fine. I mean, I didn’t expect this to happen when we went out, but there’s no lasting damage. We’re fine. I’m not, like, angry, or anything.” Ryan tried to comfort Jeremy in his own stilted way, though his assurances were the truth and even made him start to feel a little better about the situation. But then Jeremy sat up, his hands finally dropping from his face, the movement pulling the sheet down the bed enough to uncover Ryan’s lower back all the way to his mid-thigh. Jeremy opened his mouth to protest, to yell apologies, to do something but went deathly still, his eyes locked onto Ryan’s ass. Ryan was trying to think of a joke or something witty to say, shifting uncomfortably under Jeremy’s gaze.

“Ryan, please tell me you had that tattoo before last night.” Jeremy’s voice sounded panicked and he shrank back, away from Ryan as he sat up in a hurry.

“What tattoo? Jeremy what are you talking about, I don’t have a tattoo!” He was panicking too now, hoping to God that Jeremy was joking, that this wasn’t really his life right now.

“My name is tattooed on your ass, Ryan!” Jeremy’s voice had gone high, almost hysterical, as he motioned towards Ryan’s back frantically. Ryan shoved Jeremy’s hands away from his body, trying not to believe what the other man was saying. He was never fucking drinking again, he swore to himself as he stumbled from the bed, towards the mirror that covered his closet doors. He turned around, craning his neck to look at the tattoo and nearly wept. Sure enough, Jeremy’s name, first and last, was printed in a bold, medieval looking script on his ass in black ink, the skin around it bright red. Ryan squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away, Jeremy’s stuttering words falling on deaf ears. He didn’t know what to do about this. It seemed there was lasting damage. It was funny almost, how lost Ryan was. He had no idea what to do. But he couldn’t even handle looking at the man in his bed.

“Get out.” He realized he was whispering, so he raised his voice, but in his hysterics started shouting, “Get out, now!” Jeremy flinched back from him, even though they were across the room from each other.

“What? What do you mean? Ryan, I’m so sorry, I can’t even remember last night! Can’t we just talk about this?” Jeremy just kept talking, kept pleading, but Ryan was shutting down, just wanted the other man out of his sight, for both their sakes. His hands were already shaking and no matter how upset he was at the moment, he never wanted to hurt Jeremy.

“Get the fuck away from me!” His voice cracked as he screamed at the other man. Jeremy finally shut up, falling silent at the sheer volume of Ryan’s voice. He nodded, hands out in front of him, trying to placate the older man as he rose from the bed, keeping his eyes on Ryan as he gathered his clothes and pulled them on. He didn’t turn his back on Ryan the whole time as he stumbled into his jeans and stepped slowly towards the door.

“Okay. I’m leaving. I-I’m sorry, Ryan.” And he slipped out the door, leaving Ryan alone, naked, and shaking in his bedroom. Jeremy pulled his t-shirt and shoes on in the hallway, creeping towards the front of the penthouse, hoping that the others weren’t awake or hadn’t heard Ryan yelling, though he knew it was futile. He rounded the corner into the kitchen and met the eyes of Ryan’s crew. Geoff looked livid, but didn’t say anything. All of them remained silent as Jeremy lowered his eyes and walked around them, hurrying to the door and leaving without a word, perhaps shutting the door behind him a little harder than necessary.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan's feelings on the matter shift, with the help of his fellow Gents.

The door slamming shut made both Gavin and Michael flinch back in their seats. It just made Geoff and Jack even angrier.

Michael had returned to the kitchen just a few minutes ago, poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down with the rest of them, telling them with a laugh that Ryan was fine, just really hungover. Geoff had nodded at his words, glad that Ryan had enjoyed his night off; the man worked harder and in more dangerous situations than most of them and was long overdue for a break when Geoff had granted him one. Though, when he’d given Ryan his break, he hadn’t expected to be woken up at an ungodly hour by guttural moans and muffled screams. At first, he thought someone was dying, but a few seconds later he registered all the other sounds coming from Ryan’s bedroom and promptly buried his face under a pillow, willing himself to ignore what he was hearing.

He knew the sounds had woken Jack up when he heard her mutter, “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ” from beside him, where she was wrapped up in their sheets. Geoff couldn’t help but laugh then and she joined in soon after, both of them bursting into giggles once Ryan’s headboard started slamming against the wall. They had managed to calm down a bit, their laughter subsided until they heard Michael wake up, a loud “ _Fucking Christ! Shut up!_ ” reaching their ears from several rooms away. The request must not have been heard by Ryan and his partner because, if anything, the noises got louder. It had taken an almost ridiculous amount of time for them to quiet down enough for the others to fall back asleep.

Ryan’s sounds last night, though, were nothing compared to the screaming they heard that morning. Michael had assured them he was fine, but now they heard a muffled argument coming from Ryan’s room. Jack had tensed beside him and Gavin shifted uncomfortably.

“ _Get the fuck away from me!”_ They all heard Ryan’s words loud and clear, were pretty sure that people on the floor below them had heard. Geoff started out of his seat, ready to storm down the hallway and shoot whoever he had to, but Jack reached out and snatched his arm, holding him back with a small shake of her head, sending him a silent message to stay out of it. She was right, Ryan could take care of himself, probably wouldn’t appreciate Geoff barging into a situation he wasn’t a part of. They could wait to talk to their fellow Gent in private.

It wasn’t long after that Jeremy Dooley, a local sniper that they’d worked once before, only a few days ago, actually, rounded the corner and came to a dead stop when he saw them. He looked angry, guilty, panicked, and quickly jolted back into movement, rushing past the table they were all sat around and out the door, letting it slam violently behind him.

Jack did let Geoff up then and followed him down the hallway towards Ryan’s bedroom. They both paused outside the door, unsure of how to approach the situation. They were all much closer to Ryan than they had been when they first came together to form the crew, but despite all their years together, Ryan could still surprise them, his unpredictability making him a great asset, but also hard to handle sometimes. Jack figured she was the least likely to get something thrown at her and so she knocked gently on the door, hoping that Ryan would trust them enough to let them in, let them help him with whatever was wrong. Geoff put a hand on her back, something to comfort both of them as they waited to see if Ryan would answer.

“Ryan? It’s just me and Geoff. Can we come in?” Jack tried to sound calm, leaving any trace of pity from her voice, knowing Ryan would shut down if he heard it. Slowly but surely, they started to hear Ryan taking steps towards the door, and they leaned back as it opened but Ryan was already walking away from the door, away from them. Jack stepped inside, Geoff following her and flicking the light on behind him. She saw Ryan flinch at the light and felt sorry for him. But in the light they could see the aftermath of his drunken tryst, Ryan’s back littered with stray bite marks and bruises that were already turning dark. Geoff, never one to maintain a calm situation, rushed forward immediately and spun Ryan around by his shoulders to face them.

“Do I need to kill that motherfucker? I could have him dead in minutes, Ryan, just tell me if you want me to make that call.” Geoff was angry, livid it seemed, but he told the truth. He had many loyal, lower-ranking crew members that would love the chance to prove themselves through a kill like this, and even Jeremy Dooley couldn’t escape an assassination with fifteen people coming at him at once. But Ryan just shook his head, a sad chuckle slipping past his lips. Jack wasn’t happy that Ryan was upset, but she was eternally grateful that he wasn’t bottling it up, like she’d seen him do in the past.

“You don’t need to kill him. He didn’t really do anything. I…” Ryan shook his head again, his hair swooping down over his forehead before he pushed it back in place, “Everything was fine until a few minutes ago. I guess I make really bad decisions when I’m drunk.” And Ryan was laughing again, but it was more on the hysterical side and that worried Jack faintly.  She stepped up beside Geoff and placed a hand on Ryan’s arm, knowing that the older man took comfort in touch, no matter how much he denied even the need for comfort.

“What do you mean, Ryan? What happened?” She spoke softly, tightening her hand gently, giving his arm a squeeze for support. Ryan’s shoulders shook and he dropped his head into his hands and mumbled something, that neither Geoff nor Jack could make out.

“What’d you say, buddy?” Geoff asked, leaning in closer to the taller man. Ryan heaved in a breath that seemed to stick in his throat and answered them again, loud enough for them to hear.

“I got a tattoo.” At first they were both confused. Okay, a tattoo? That wasn’t so bad, considering some of the decisions Geoff’s made while intoxicated, but then came the rest of Ryan’s confession. “It’s Jeremy’s name. And it’s on my…ass.”

It took every ounce of Geoff’s strength not to start laughing, but even then his lips quivered and Ryan shot him a glare while Jack gave him a scolding slap on the arm. There was just something he found immensely funny about Ryan, their Vagabond, the most notorious, ruthless killer in the state, if not the country, having lost control to the point of getting a tattoo on his ass. It also helped that once Geoff started laughing, Ryan did too, but instead of the sad, hysterical laughs of before, it was actually in humor. Jack waited patiently for her two arguably favorite idiots to settle down before she got back to trying to understand what the fight had been about.

“So is that what you were yelling at Jeremy about?” Jack asked, and Ryan looked sheepish now, guilty, once he realized that he might have overreacted. Tattoos could be removed, expensively yes, but they were criminal overlords, there wasn’t much they couldn’t afford. That was, if he even wanted it removed. Now that Geoff and Jack had put it into perspective, more specifically Geoff, laughing at such a ridiculous situation because that’s all it was, Ryan kind of found it hilarious as well. It wasn’t Jeremy’s fault that drunk Ryan had thought it would be a good idea to do it. And Ryan could feel nothing but guilt over how he’d thrown Jeremy out. The younger man had just wanted to talk to him, perhaps to piece together the night they’d spent with each other, but Ryan had refused to listen, had shut down and gone almost cold in a way he hadn’t in a long time. There’d been a time in his life when he might’ve let himself slip deeper into that instability, may even have hurt Jeremy in his anger, but now he just felt bad, felt an almost sick feeling rise up in his stomach as he realized how Jeremy must have felt.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by Geoff’s voice cracking over his question, “Can we see it?” And even Jack laughed at that, her giggles getting louder as Ryan glared once more at Geoff and flipped him off before he ushered them back out of his room, assuring them both that he was fine, that he’d calmed down, that he was going to try and find Jeremy and apologize.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in so long. School and med shit. Anyway, enjoy this!  
> Sorry it's short!

Jeremy stood still outside the door for a moment, flinching at the way it had slammed behind him. He didn’t know what to do or where to go. Any member of the crew could follow him out at any second and kill him if they found it necessary or if Ryan asked them to. Jeremy shook himself, feeling sore and angry and sad and _sick._ He almost hated himself. His steps were heavy as he trudged to the elevator down the hall. In the lobby of the apartment building he flicked his hood up, pulling it low over his forehead, already looking out for anyone he knew worked for the Fake. He knew Ryan was upset, knew enough about the Vagabond’s reputation to know he didn’t often hesitate upon exacting revenge.

Jeremy kept alert the whole way back to his own apartment, much smaller and sporting a lot more grime than Geoff’s penthouse. It was all he could afford with his freelance jobs, no matter how skilled he was.

He crept through the rooms with his pistol drawn, just in case, before checking every window and then the front door. Geoff was an influential man in this city and Jeremy didn’t doubt that he could very well have a million dollar bounty on his head by now. He hoped that didn’t happen. He wanted to text Ryan, to call him, to apologize. Fuck, he’d resort to skywriting his apologies if he had to.

He texted Jack instead. His job with them just a few days ago had been simple enough and he’d spent a lot of downtime in the getaway car with the woman. Jeremy felt that if any of the crew were the least likely to annihilate him at Ryan’s request it was her. He didn’t doubt that she’d kill for Ryan, just that she’d be the only one to bother asking questions beforehand.

His message was simple, ‘ **Tell Ryan I’m sorry about all of this. Is he okay?** ’ His hands were pretty close to shaking as he tapped send, fearing that he was overstepping, that daring to ask about Ryan would raise his chances of being killed in his sleep. He honestly hadn’t expected a response but he received one in seconds. Jeremy nearly dropped his phone as he opened it, fumbling the device a little in his panic.

‘ **He’s fine. Wants you to meet him outside some laundry mat? Said you’d know the one?** ’ And Jeremy was really panicking. Was Ryan honestly okay? Was Jack lying to him? If Jeremy went, was he going to be shot or stabbed? Was this all a ploy to kill him without going to the trouble of breaking into his apartment? Jeremy paced around his living room, the rough beige carpet rasping under his shoes. He stopped short before the windows, staring out at the street below him, unconsciously scanning the area for any unfamiliar cars or suspicious figures. What if this wasn’t a trap? What if Ryan really wanted to meet with him and at the place they’d met, no less? The risk of it being a trick was high, but Jeremy wouldn’t be able to live with himself if Ryan was being sincere and he stood the older man up, basically rubbing salt in the wound.  He groaned aloud, spinning away from the window. If it was a trap, he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. He was mad at himself for what had happened between himself and Ryan, and he wanted to live long enough to actually apologize, dammit.

Jeremy hurried into his bedroom and knelt beside his bed, groping under the frame for his box of weapons. His pistol was already on him, tucked into his waistband, but it wouldn’t hurt to take along a knife or two. And maybe a flashbang. Just to be safe. He shoved the box back under the bed and stood, wringing his hands a little to push his nerves away. He could do this. If it wasn’t a trap, he’d apologize. Ryan had plagued his thoughts every day since they’d met and Jeremy would die without the help of any hostile figure if Ryan truly didn’t wish to see him again. He turned away from his bed, hoping that he’d live long enough to sleep in it again. He shut off all the lights behind him as he made his way back towards the front door. His gun felt heavy and cold against his hip and the flashbang felt like a lead weight in his jacket pocket as he locked the door behind him.

It was a short walk to the laundry mat. He’d always come to this one instead of using the washer and dryer system in the basement of his building, mostly because it was terrifying and dark down there. And because he liked to watch the pretty guy with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes doing his laundry just across the row from Jeremy. He came on Sunday nights, like clockwork, at seven at night. Jeremy started doing his laundry exclusively on Sundays at seven. It was usually just the two of them, but it had taken Jeremy a good three weeks to work up the nerve to talk to the guy. It wasn’t even because the guy was always washing one load of bloody clothes and another load of hundred dollar bills. The man had an air about him, an aura that pulsed danger, but Jeremy was around people like that all the time, even had that same feeling himself sometimes. It came with the job. It was the fact that the guy was so haltingly attractive that kept Jeremy away. Criminals in this town didn’t stay pretty long, and the fact that this guy was so obviously a hitman or mercenary of some kind and remained that beautiful was kind of intimidating. It meant he was good. Better than Jeremy at least. Jeremy been right about that. The man had been Ryan, the Mad Merc, the Vagabond, one of the most feared men in Los Santos, if not the state.

And now Ryan was there again, leaning against the brick of the building, staring up at the sky, squinting into the sunlight. His hands were shoved into his jacket pockets, one leg crooked over the other, resting all of his weight onto one foot. His hair was down for once, the loose ends hanging around his shoulders, a few pieces brushed back behind his ears. Jeremy felt like he’d hit a brick wall. Seeing Ryan there, relaxed and waiting just for him left him without a breath to catch. He couldn’t even turn his head away to look for any sign of this being a trap. He couldn’t look away from Ryan. He took a few steps forward, noticing the flush to Ryan’s cheeks, the way he licked his lips every few seconds, the way his foot would twitch, his nervous ticks flaring up as he waited.

Waited for Jeremy. Who was just standing there, staring at Ryan like an idiot. He startled into action, continuing towards the mercenary. His steps were light but Ryan was a criminal who’d been in the game for much longer than most, mainly due to his innate ability to know when someone was near him. He turned towards Jeremy, shifting his weight from his back to his shoulder, still leaning casually against the wall. Jeremy tried to take that as a good sign, along with Ryan’s small grin. He almost looked amused, taking in Jeremy’s tense stance and darting eyes, probably looking around for any sniper rifles or hooded teens, anything that might pose a threat. Jeremy flinched when Ryan spoke, dreading what his words really meant.

“We need to talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> this sucks, hoped you liked it :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! Thank you!   
> Also my tumblr: http://captainohmycaptain.tumblr.com/


End file.
